


Black Hands

by banjotea



Series: Rels Llethri [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cognitive Dissonance, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Lore-Friendly, Mentorship, Mephala worship, Morag Tong, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjotea/pseuds/banjotea
Summary: Embracing his role in the Morag Tong, Rels Llethri has finally found his place in the world. But once he's charged with eradicating the Dark Brotherhood, the delicate balance of his life is threatened.
Relationships: Ahnassi (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Rels Llethri/Ahnassi
Series: Rels Llethri [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690051
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	1. The Black Shalk

Rels rested his hand on the door to the Black Shalk Cornerclub and took a deep breath, his heart drumming. There was nothing to be afraid of. This used to be his favorite place in Vivec. He was going to see his old friend and have a nice night out for old times’ sake. Raril already knew he was in the Morag Tong, and hadn’t judged him for it. Nobody here knew what he had done in Ald-ruhn. It was going to be fine. Like old times. 

What if he asked about the scar on his face?

He could hear the clink of glass through the door. Well. He wasn’t going to get drunk standing out here. He pushed it open.

The cornerclub was dim and bustling, filled with Dunmer and outlanders alike. He went to the bar and sat down in his usual spot. Raril, the publican, was turned away from him, busy pouring out a frothy ale for a pale outlander down the bar. The place looked exactly as he remembered it. 

Rels sighed and wondered how much he should drink tonight. Too much, and he’d fall down the ladder getting home. Too little, and it would wear off before he got to sleep. He liked the taste of greef and mazte, but on the other hand, sujamma would do the job faster…

“Do I see Rels? Where’ve you been, lad? You look good.” Rels looked away from the shelf of bottles to see Raril smiling warmly at him. 

He felt a twinge of anger in his stomach before he realized Raril was probably talking about his armor, not his face. The last time he’d been here, he couldn’t even afford a full set. 

“Got transferred. It’s good to be back.”

“And good to have you back. Was beginning to worry about you. What’ll it be, then?”

Rels tried to smile, but didn’t know whether he succeeded. He’d made a promise to himself a long time ago, and he finally had the chance to follow through. “A mazte for me, and a round for the house.”

“That’ll come out to a few hundred. Are you good for it?”

He nodded and took the bottle of mazte to uncork it. “Yeah, no problem.”

For the next while, as Rels drank in silence, he heard Raril say, “This one’s on the house,” to every new drink order. A group of bearded Nords sitting nearby had raised their tankards at him in thanks, but he hadn’t done it for them. He’d promised to repay Raril’s kindness, and now it was done. Now all his options for doing the nice thing were exhausted. 

Rels was just finishing his bottle, feeling relaxed, when he heard the creaking of leather armor behind him. Assuming it was someone ordering a drink over his shoulder, he ignored it. Then a hand took his arm in a vice grip and dragged him off the barstool.

He stumbled on the rug, barely keeping his balance. Looking back, he saw a grizzled Dunmer in mismatched armor giving him a death stare.

“You! I know what you did, n’wah. You killed my son.” 

Rels’s heart dropped. Raril was shouting for calm behind them, but neither of them listened.

“Who?”

The Dunmer scoffed. “Oh, big man, are you, you dirty cutthroat? Can’t even keep your kills straight? You killed Galvis, and you’re gonna pay!” He drew his clunky warhammer, and Rels leapt back. 

He wasn’t drunk enough to kill someone without a writ.

“Guards!”

The Dunmer advanced, raising his hammer, while the patrons sitting nearby scrambled out of the way. Rels sidestepped to the door, hoping to draw him away from the other people. His head felt sluggish but his movement was still precise.

“Listen, sera, Galvis Ulven had a writ—“

“Ash with your writs—“

The door burst open, and an Ordinator rushed in, mace drawn.

“Get him out of here, please!” Raril pointed at the Dunmer. The Ordinator rounded on him, wrenched the warhammer out of his grip, and shoved him out the door.

Rels slumped back to the bar, and the place settled down. His head began to throb. He remembered Galvis Ulven. It had only been his second writ, and it had taken all of his reflexes to avoid becoming a smear on the side of St. Olms canton. At the time, it had felt like simple self-defense, but now, having faced a grieving father… A father who had loved his son…

“You all right, lad?” Rels looked up at Raril’s concerned expression. Surely he must be hiding what he really thought of people who destroyed families, people like Rels.

Reddish dust clouds began to swirl behind his eyes. No. Not now. Don’t be pathetic.

“Give me a sujamma. Leave the bottle.”

Raril took his payment for all the drinks, and then set down a rustic clay bottle with a small frown. With cold, deliberate movements, Rels uncorked it and poured himself a finger. He knocked it back and nearly choked at the sickly burn in the back of his throat. His stomach complained, and his temple was pounding now. But he didn’t care.

He just needed more.

...His mind was on a raft, on a black sea, under a black sky. The waves were gentle. They buoyed him aimlessly, for there was nowhere to go. His limbs were dead, just warm lumps of flesh holding him in place. Nobody was here. He was alone. Blissful. He could stay here forever, floating nowhere...

He felt movement. It rocked his balance, sending his head spinning. He had to stay on. Movement again. It wasn’t the waves. His shoulder was being nudged. Unacceptable. He groaned in protest. Then a voice filtered in.

“Brother? Can you walk?” He didn’t recognize the voice. He let his head loll to the side on his arms, and regretted it. The golden lamplight was harsh, offensive. He struggled to stay on his raft. He couldn’t fall into the water.

“Up you get, Rels. Time to go home now.” That was Raril. Who was the other voice?

“Come with me. I will escort you back.” The other voice was accented. He opened his eyes and squinted in the direction of the sound. An Argonian. He wanted to close his eyes again, but they didn’t seem like they would leave him be. A hum was the most he could respond with.

Two pairs of hands hoisted him up from the barstool, and he let them. When they let go, his legs crumpled and he fell to the floor.

Too fast. He rolled off his raft and into the choppy black waters. A second later, hot acid invaded his throat, and he threw up on the rug. Raril and the Argonian said something, but he wasn’t listening. He heaved two more times, then wobbled up into a kneeling position. The room was cold. A glass of water was pressed into his hand, and he brought it shakily up to his lips. They were still saying something.

Rels wasn’t alone now. He was sitting on the floor of the cornerclub, next to his own vomit, and two people, maybe more, were watching him. He was disgusting. He was drunk, worthless, an utter failure. A coward and a traitor. By all rights he should have been executed for killing Methas Hlaalu. But he’d been selfish and tried to prove his loyalty instead.

Someone was patting him on the back now. “Now, now, lad, there we go. You just need some rest.”

He realized he was crying. This couldn’t happen. With all of his strength and focus, he got up to his feet, leaving the glass on the floor. With numb hands he wiped his eyes and nose.

It was a long journey back to the Arena canton. He stumbled down, then up the ramps, but the Argonian lent his shoulder, and the cool night air helped wake him up. He dimly recognized the Argonian’s face, but couldn’t remember his name.

“Our work is difficult, but we must act as representatives of the Morag Tong at all times. Getting into fights and being intoxicated are—“

“Didn’t fight ‘im. Guard took ‘im.”

“Yes, you are right. I suppose that was not your fault. However, you need to control your drinking. We are not free to do as we please.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Probably not, this time. But I don’t foresee the Grandmaster being happy with you.”

They arrived at the trapdoor, and the Argonian needed to climb down first to help him. Together they navigated the guildhall, Rels pointedly ignoring any attention he was drawing.

When they passed by his bed, Rels was confused. Why were they continuing into the Grandmaster’s room?

Eno Hlaalu sat at his desk with a book open, and looked up at them.

“Grandmaster,” greeted the Argonian. “Brother Llethri was accosted by the father of one of his targets in the Black Shalk. It was resolved peacefully by the Ordinators, but after that he saw fit to overindulge, and required my assistance in returning to the guild.”

Rels looked over at the Argonian. Was it really necessary to report on him like this?

“Thank you, Thrall Huleeya. You may leave him here.” His quiet voice betrayed nothing, and nervousness trickled into Rels’ gut.

Eno Hlaalu gave him a once over.

“I had planned to move against a Dark Brotherhood hideout tomorrow.” There was a pause. Rels swallowed. “Take a day. But don’t let it happen again.”

\--

Rels tried to sleep in the next day, but his pounding headache and parched throat forced him awake earlier than he wanted. He rose to sit on the edge of his bed, coughed weakly, and felt his stomach quiver. Rubbing his temples, he tried to recall what had happened the night before. He remembered Galvis Ulven’s father, getting sujamma, then vomiting on the floor. The Argonian—Huleeya—had brought him back, and the Grandmaster had given him the day off to recover. Guilt swirled in his queasy gut at the thought that his behavior was affecting his duties. This wasn’t like giving a target an extra day to live. It was giving the Dark Brotherhood another day to regroup and gain a foothold in Morrowind. Rels had been entrusted with the task of wiping them out, and he was slipping.

He reached for his clothes to get dressed, only to realize that he had slept in his armor. What a mess. It ached when he loosened the straps around his shoulders and chest, and he heaved a sigh.

He needed to clear his head.

It was obnoxiously sunny on the road to Pelagiad, but with enough water, his headache was starting to fade. It was late morning when he arrived, and an early lunch was in order.

Sitting in the Halfway Tavern, he looked around for Ahnassi. It was nearly empty this time of day, and the few people there—all Imperials—paid him no attention. It was a welcome change. When his kwama egg was gone, he left in the direction of Ahnassi’s house. If she wasn’t home, well, at least the day wasn’t so bad thus far.

At his knock, the door opened, and Ahnassi greeted him with an excited hug. Her orange fur was soft on his cheek, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Rels, you are here! Come in! Did you bring something for Ahnassi?” Her bright topaz eyes twinkled. She led him into the cottage and began to get him something to drink.

Rels sat in the chair and reached into his bag. “Of course I did. How have you been?” 

She set a glass of water in front of him and sat down at the table, resting her chin on her hands. “There are few opportunities recently. Very slow. It is so good you have come to visit. Prrr, this is beautiful! Thank you!” Rels handed her the amulet he had bought on his way here. It was expensive, but what else did he have to spend money on? If she ever needed cash, it could come in handy for her.

A glow of joy flickered in his chest as he watched her put it on. “Glad you like it.”

“Of course!” She got up again and came to sit on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her thin waist as she slid an arm over his shoulders. “How long can you stay this time?”

Rels looked away from her face, and over at the bed. Something caught his eye. It was half-hidden underneath, made of leather. A pair of greaves, a man’s size. Ahnassi didn’t wear armor. Somebody had left it there. He looked back up at her, and felt his gaze soften. She was beautiful. Exotic. Sleek. Everyone could see that. His stomach hardened into stone—She didn’t belong to him. She had others, and if she wanted him too, she could have him. It felt good to make her happy. He didn’t deserve anything in return.

“Just for the day,” he answered. “We can do anything you want.”


	2. Zanseth Amori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks cottoncandy_dreams for betaing this chapter!

In the distance among the mossy trees, Rels saw the claw-like pillars jutting out from the swamp. It was impossible to say whether they leaned sideways because they had sunken into the bog, or whether they had been designed that way, but it made him uneasy. He’d never gotten close to a Daedric ruin before, and now he was about to enter one. 

This early in the morning, the fog clung to the reeds, making it difficult to case the area. He slunk behind the trees, keeping an ear out for signs of activity above the drone of insects. Through the goggles of his helmet, he could make out a lone figure pacing around the ruin, a reptilian precision in its gait. One of the Shadowscales. Rels knelt behind a rotting stump and readied his bow. Poison didn’t work on Argonians, so aim was crucial. 

Holding the bowstring taut, he stilled his breath to watch for a pattern. The black-clad Argonian seemed dutiful but complacent, making rounds but not paying attention to the surroundings. Rels narrowed his eyes in contempt. The Dark Brotherhood relied too much on the cover of night. He released his shot, and it sank into the Argonian’s belly. The figure stumbled out of sight with a raspy cry. After waiting several minutes, Rels was satisfied that the door was unguarded. He weaved his way to the courtyard of the ruin.

The intricately carved stone structure towered overhead as he entered. The body of the Argonian lay slumped against a haphazard wall. Rels inspected it. The Argonian wasn’t dead yet. He was still gasping weakly, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. He looked up at Rels, and winced in pain. He opened his mouth but only let out a wheeze. 

This would not do. Rels drew his ebony dagger and raised the Argonian’s chin with one hand. With a rising tide of revulsion he slit open the exposed scales. As blood gushed onto the thin black armor, Rels stood up out of the way. A cleaner shot would have saved them both the trouble. 

He pushed down his disgust and approached the crooked door with trepidation. He didn’t know what the interior would look like or whether anyone was about to come out. He tried to slow down his breathing. If he was overwhelmed inside and couldn’t make it out… Well, at least he had taken one of them out already. And if he was dead, he wouldn’t have to face the Grandmaster’s disappointment. Ahnassi was taken care of. Either he would succeed in his task, or he would die. He was ready. 

The stone door swung open at an angle, revealing an antechamber filled with a dim purple glow. It seemed to come from the walls themselves—Rels didn’t dare touch the shimmering stone. The crackle of torches echoed from deeper within the ruin, and he listened for voices. 

Two Orc men. 

He could do this.

He crept around the corner and peered down the steps into a larger chamber. One Orc was standing with his back to him, and the other was out of sight. They were speaking in rumbling voices that echoed around the room, unintelligible. A hideout would surely have more than three people in it, but if he did this right, he could take them one at a time. He pulled a throwing knife out of his bag and coated it with poison. 

Before the Orc could move away, Rels flung the knife at his broad back. It embedded itself with a “shik,” and when the Orc cried out, Rels used the cover of noise to dart back out the front door. 

The daylight was harsh after the dark interior, but he rushed for cover behind a pillar. A few seconds later, the door slammed open, and the injured Orc stumbled out, sword drawn. Rels stayed still. The second Orc emerged.

“Split up. He can’t be too far,” one of them grunted. He heard the injured Orc wander to his right, and the other one approached his hiding spot. 

The footsteps stopped. “Lizard’s dead!” Then they continued, and the second Orc passed in front of him. Rels leaped onto his back and stabbed his chest with his dagger, wrenching it back out from the leathery skin to stab again. The Orc roared in pain, whirling around. Rels used the momentum to jump off and ran away in search of the injured one. He was easy to find, lumbering in their direction, steps pounding on the packed earth in an unsteady rhythm. He was succumbing to the poison, but he was still a threat. 

Rather than face him head on, Rels swung behind a nearby crag to attack from the back. As the Orc was turning, he drove his dagger through the shoulder of the leather cuirass. The Orc dropped his sword and fell to his knees, leaving Rels free to face the other one. But when he returned, he found that one already on the ground. The two Orcs were both incapacitated.

Rels’ body still thrummed with adrenaline, and he was breathing heavily. It took an extra second to realize he had survived the encounter. All that was left was finishing them off.

The ruin was silent inside. The larger chamber down the steps was partially flooded, a crumbling statue dominating the center of the room. He wasn’t sure which Daedra Lord this shrine had been dedicated to, but among the rubble there was a pair of clawed stone feet. Perhaps Malacath or Mehrunes Dagon. He hoped neither of them were present. It was still and eerie above the crackling torches. It felt as if the whole place might cave in.

Behind the dais of the statue there was a table covered in papers with possibly valuable intelligence, but he walked past it to the lone door at the far end of the room. He couldn’t investigate until he was sure the area was secured. The door was locked. He found a key on one of the Orcs’ bodies outside, and came back to try the door with it. 

When it opened, a low whimpering sound came out. Somebody was inside. It was pitch black in the room, the only light coming in through the open door. Rels squinted and held his dagger at the ready. 

“Wh-who are you?” It sounded like a Dunmer man’s voice, hoarse and weak. Rels opened the door fully and saw him chained to the wall above a pile of dirty rags. His dark hair was long and tangled, hiding most of his face.

“How many people are here?” Rels asked. 

The man coughed. “Um, just the four of us. Did you—“ He coughed again, rattling the chains holding him up.

Rels looked around the tiny room, but there was nothing, so he put his dagger away. “Yes, they’re all dead. I didn’t know the Dark Brotherhood kept prisoners.”

The man showed no reaction. “Sometimes.” He tried to toss his hair out of his face, but it fell back. “Would you let me down? I’d—“ Cough. “I’d be really grateful.”

“Sure.” Rels squinted at the shackles in the low light and found a keyhole. “Where’s the key?”

“On the table.”

As Rels went back to the table covered in papers, he wondered how a prisoner would know the location of a key kept outside of their cell. It seemed unlikely that they would tell him. Unless the Orcs had let it slip in passing. He picked up a paper from the table. It was in Cyrodiilic. So were all of the others. “N’chow.” He gathered up all of the loose pages and journals and stuffed them into his bag to take to the Grandmaster. Next to a small lockbox there was a rusty key, which he took. He hesitated a moment, then he dropped the lockbox into his bag as well. Even if it was only coin, it was better not to leave anything behind.

He returned to the cell and began releasing the prisoner from the shackles on the wall. When the man was free, he slid down to the grimy floor and began massaging his wrists. “Thank you,” he rasped. “Would you get me water from the barrel?”

“What barrel?”

“By the front door. Rain barrel.”

Rels located the barrel outside the entrance, tucked inconspicuously behind a corner of the stairs. Taking a ladle of it, he walked back, questions blooming in his mind.

“You know a lot about this place,” Rels said, handing the man the ladle and squatting across from him. 

He looked warily at Rels as he took the water with shaking hands. Some of it spilled onto the floor. After a long, trembling sip, he cleared his throat and spoke in a clearer voice. “Well, I… I used to be one of them.”

Rels resisted the urge to draw his dagger. The man was harmless in his state and might be willing to give information. “You were in the Dark Brotherhood? Why were you being kept in here?”

“Yes, I… How did you know the Dark Brotherhood was here? Who are you?”

“Tell me who you are first.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then brushed his hair away and sighed. “Oh, very well. My name is Zanseth Amori. I joined the Brotherhood several months ago to look for my...friend. As you can see, I was not successful. I broke one of the Tenets and was thrown into this pitiful cell as punishment.” He coughed and took another sip of water.

Rels tried hard not to think of his own time in the Morag Tong. The Dark Brotherhood was so much worse. “What did you do?”

“I refused to carry out an execution.”

“Why?”

Amori gave him a strange look. “Because I wasn’t going to kill someone I knew. I joined for a specific purpose. I’m not bloodthirsty.”

Before he knew what it was, a simmering rage bubbled up in Rels’ stomach. Bloodthirsty, was he, for killing people he knew?

There was a long silence. “So who are you?”

“I’m with the Morag Tong.”

Amazingly, Amori’s ragged face brightened. “You are? Perhaps I can help you! I can give you information— That’s why you’re here, yes? Why you took those documents?”

Rels shifted uncomfortably on his heels, pushing down his anger. His orders had been simple: take anything that might be useful, and leave no survivors. Was an informant useful enough to risk bringing to headquarters? Would the Grandmaster see it that way?

“Why do you want to help?”

“Because—“ Cough. “If the Morag Tong is hunting down the Brotherhood...” Another sip of water. “I’m looking for my friend. She was tangled up in all this business, and I— I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“Why should we trust you, though?”

Amori sighed. “What would I have to gain by betraying the Morag Tong? I’ll join you if you want. I’m no stranger to assassination.”

Rels stared at his dirt-streaked face in the dim cell. Loyal or not, this was a Dark Brotherhood assassin. Even if he did have the skills to qualify, the concept of killing probably meant something different to him than it did to Rels. Possibly something colder, and nothing to do with the security of Morrowind. It was possible that even if he took the trouble to take Amori back to Vivec, the Grandmaster would have him executed as an enemy. 

“I can’t make any promises, but I can take you to the Grandmaster and let him decide.”

By himself, the road back to Vivec wouldn’t have taken Rels more than a few hours, but with a captive in tow, they didn’t arrive until sundown. Amori was sickly and slow, and needed to stop and rest frequently. Rels kept a wary eye on him, but with his hands bound and limbs exhausted, he didn’t seem like a threat. After a longer rest to share a small supper in the fields outside of Ebonheart, he appeared to have regained some of his strength, and he was chattier than Rels would have liked.

“So,” Amori began as they got up, and Rels bound his hands again. “Dres, Redoran, or Indoril?”

“What?”

Amori tossed his hair out of his eyes again. “You must be from one of those three, so which one are you?”

Rels prickled. “...Redoran.”

“That explains a lot. Since you ask, I hail from Tel Aruhn.”

A Telvanni. Fantastic. “So you’re a mage?” Truthfully, Rels didn’t care to know. Amori might not live past the night, and his silence was much more pleasant than his conversation, but Rels didn’t want to discourage him from sharing information. He didn’t know what might prove useful in the future.

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider myself a mage, no,” Amori replied with a weak chuckle. “A bit of light Alteration to get around, nothing special. Some Illusion to get the job done, you know how things are.”

“How things are?” Rels had never cast the slightest bit of magic in his life.

“Of course! Luring targets to a secluded location? Keeping them from retaliating?” He watched Rels’ flat expression. “...No? Surely you aren’t killing everyone the hard way?”

The hard way. His gut hardened as he stared straight down the road. He was beginning to hope the Grandmaster would find him too useless to keep alive.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but don’t the Morag Tong revere the Daedra Lord Mephala? I would think that manipulation would be a major part of your work.”

Rels looked over at him then. That was a good point. The Vivec guildhall had Selkin-Adda, a mage who was skilled in Illusion magic. Manipulating targets would have a place in the Morag Tong code, if only to prevent unnecessary deaths. If Rels wanted to perfect his skills, he would have to consider it eventually. The idea turned his stomach. “I guess.”

When they finally reached the Arena canton of Vivec, Rels began to feel nervous. He’d never brought someone down the trapdoor before, and he wasn’t sure if it was allowed. “I’m going to need to cover your eyes,” he said.

Amori sighed. “If you must.”

An Ordinator passed them on the balcony. He glanced at Amori’s bindings and ragged appearance, then looked at Rels. Rels looked back. The Ordinator kept walking. They knew Morag Tong business when they saw it, and Rels wasn’t actually breaking any laws. He stopped outside the door to the waistworks, pulled his empty food sack out of his bag, and placed it over Amori’s head. He heard grumbling from underneath it.

Together they descended into the storage room, and Amori stood by patiently as Rels teased open the locks leading to the guildhall. He felt foolish, but if Amori was allowed to live, and still betrayed the Morag Tong, it was for the best.

His guildmates watched with amusement as he guided Amori through the hallways up to the Grandmaster’s quarters. Eno Hlaalu closed his book and stood when they entered.

“Grandmaster,” Rels greeted him. Amori straightened his posture beside him, and Rels pulled the sack off his head. “This is Zanseth Amori, a Dark Brotherhood assassin who wants to defect to the Morag Tong.”

“I see.” The Grandmaster stared at him for a long moment, then looked back at Rels. “Brother, send Knower gro-Bularz and wait downstairs.”

Rels glanced at Amori’s tense expression before turning around to find the Orc.

It was a long time before gro-Bularz returned to fetch him. While he waited, Rels sat at the dinner table. From the bookshelf he pulled the guild’s copy of “Incident in Necrom,” but found his eyes glazing over the opening lines. What was going to happen to Amori? Had Rels only led him here to die? If not, was he really going to join the Morag Tong? Coming from the enemy, as a proven traitor? He’d spoken of joining up as though it were some kind of compromise, as though it were just a step towards finding whoever he was looking for. Sickly shame burned in his stomach. Rels had learned the hard way that the Morag Tong was not a step on a path. It was the path. Was Amori going to try to leave after finding her? What if she was already dead? Rels hoped his search took him out of the city, at the very least. He didn’t think he could stand sharing a guildhall with him.

Eventually, Knower gro-Bularz brought him back upstairs to find an exhausted Amori standing before the Grandmaster with his hands free.

“Brother,” Eno Hlaalu said. “I have agreed to allow Zanseth Amori to join the Morag Tong as a probationer. You will monitor him on his first writ, and if he is successful, he will officially join as your apprentice. I entrust you to impart the values and traditions of the Morag Tong. You will not allow him to interfere in our war against the Dark Brotherhood. If measures need to be taken...” At this, he turned his gaze onto Amori, whose eyes widened, then back onto Rels. “...I leave that to your discretion.”

“Yes, Grandmaster.” Rels gritted his teeth and looked at Amori, who stared back at him with an edge of fear.


	3. Giras Indaram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Thanatopsiturvy for the help!

“How long is this going to take?”

Rels looked up from his lunch and tried not to roll his eyes. Amori was sprawled over one of the dining chairs and staring up at the sandstone ceiling, moping. He’d tied his auburn hair up in a bun, but his gaunt face and insolent stare still made him look like a prisoner. They had only been waiting for a few days, but for Rels it felt like weeks. Clearly it felt the same to Amori, but Rels couldn’t figure out why. He was still half-starved and weak from captivity, and had no responsibilities yet. 

“You gave them a lot of information to confirm. Just relax and eat your lunch.” 

Amori turned to him with an incredulous look. “Yes, Mother.” He smiled when Rels tensed. “I am actually in a hurry, you know. I lost a lot of time being locked up.” He sat up straighter and poured himself some water. “I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. If I’d just sucked it up and killed him, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I guess I just didn’t have it in me. Oh, but what am I telling you this for? I’m sure you could have done it.”

Rels took a deep breath. Think of the road. The sky. The trees. The ocean. “Who are you looking for?”

Amori cocked an eyebrow at the change of topic, but leaned back in the chair with his cup. “I suppose you should know, since we’ll be working together. Her name is Lyssara...” He took a sip, staring at the opposite wall. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Picked up by the Dark Brotherhood. She’s crafty, yes, but not a murderer. She doesn’t deserve this life.”

“What will you do if you find her?”

Amori sighed. “I haven’t rightly decided yet. I was going to take her somewhere far away, maybe Port Telvannis. But now I’ve gone and joined the Morag Tong, apparently… I’ll figure something out. I can’t let them keep her.”

“So she’s your girlfriend, then?” 

“Well, I suppose in a manner of speaking…” Amori drummed his fingers on the table. “You could say so.” 

“So she’s not.”

“Well how about you? Do you have anyone special?”

Rels huffed in amusement. “Yeah. I have a girlfriend.” In a manner of speaking. 

“What’s her name?” Amori was leaning on his elbows now, still ignoring his food. Rels wished he would sit still.

“Ahnassi.”

Amori frowned. “Ahnassi… Is she…?”

“She’s from Elsweyr.” 

“A Khajiit?!” he said loudly, making Rels glare at him. He held up his hands in defense. “That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with it… I just mean...” He laughed nervously. “My parents never would have allowed it.”

When Rels was finished with his lunch, he was going to take a long walk outside, where Amori wasn’t allowed to follow him. Maybe he would even request a writ. 

Knower gro-Bularz walked in and nodded to Rels. “The Grandmaster wants to talk to you two.” And new guy.” He turned to Amori. “Keep it down. You want the whole city to know we’re down here?”

Rels and Amori made their way upstairs to the Grandmaster’s quarters and stood at attention. Eno Hlaalu was standing by his desk, his face like stone. 

“Zanseth Amori. We are satisfied with your betrayal of the Dark Brotherhood. You are ready for your first honorable writ of execution.” He took a small scroll from the desk and handed it to Amori, who took it expressionlessly. “Find Giras Indaram. He is a Buoyant Armiger who will be leaving from Molag Mar to Ghostgate tomorrow. I suggest you find him before he reaches his destination, as he will be traveling alone. In any case, you will slay him honorably and report back to me. Brother Llethri will monitor and instruct you as necessary, but you must execute the writ by your own skills alone.” Then he turned to sit in his chair, dismissing them. “Swiftness and accuracy to you.”

As Amori walked away, Rels hesitated. Eno Hlaalu stared up at him. Waiting. Rels decided not to say anything, and left. 

“Will you need armor?” Rels asked Amori when they were back downstairs, sitting at the table. Amori still wore the clothes he’d been imprisoned in, washed but not as fine as they had once been. He would need some sort of protection against a Buoyant Armiger. One of Lord Vivec’s personal guard. Rels could hardly believe it. None of his own writs had ever been that dangerous.

Amori shot Rels a simmering look, then unrolled his writ to read it. “No. I won’t. Armor just gets in the way. I only wore it in the Brotherhood as a formality.” He rolled the writ back up and stuffed it into his pocket, sighing. “I can see it was a mistake to reveal my abilities to the Grandmaster so soon. My best guess is that he’s trying to squeeze as much use from me as he can get, and if I die, then it’s just a bonus.”

Rels cleared his throat and looked down at the table. 

“You aren’t very good at hiding it, you know. Now that I’ve served my purpose to your guild, it would be more convenient if I died. Well I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Rels felt heat rising in his cheeks. He wasn’t sure whether it was shame or anger. 

“You didn’t have to. Never mind. We might as well leave now and get it over with. I have some stalking to do, it seems.” He pushed up from the table and left the room. Rels sighed forcefully and got up to pack his bag.

It was late in the afternoon, and the two were on the road to Molag Mar, a hazy sunset behind them. Amori had been sullen so far. Silence hung heavy in the air between them, awkward and resentful, but Rels couldn’t help but relish the quiet. When they stopped in Suran for dinner, however, the peace was broken.

“Shall we stop at the Tradehouse, then?” Amori asked, pointing his head at the two-story building overlooking the bustling plaza. Rels looked up at it. He’d been here once before. 

“Um… Maybe not there,” he answered. “I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

Amori cocked his head. “You’ve been kicked out? You don’t seem the type.”

“Not exactly.” Drosa Farano’s bleeding face flashed in his memory. Her shriek of pain. The horror on the face of the young publican who had told him where to find her. The blood-soaked shirt he’d tossed into the lake afterward. He’d come a long way since then. His stomach twisted as he thought of it. Sure, it had been legal, but it was sloppy, and he hadn’t done it for the right reasons. She had deserved better. And whatever the publican had been to her, Rels was sure he didn’t belong in that man’s Tradehouse.

“...All right, then! Well...” Amori looked around. “They might have food.” He pointed to a cornerclub with a red lantern hanging by the door. Rels shrugged and followed him inside. 

The acrid stench of skooma flooded their nostrils as they walked over the threshold, and a band played music in the corner. Rels regretted looking at the far end of the room, where several outlander women were dancing almost naked. In a different mood, he might have looked at them again, but today, with Amori, on a writ… 

They sat down at the table closest to the door and ordered food, neither looking at the other. The publican was another undressed outlander woman, and Rels couldn’t shake the image in his mind of his father looking down his nose at a foreign prostitute. “Never allow them to touch the bloodline,” he’d sneered. Rels rubbed his temples, trying to forget. He had no reason to listen to those words now. Rels had no bloodline. Why should his ancestors even care that he was with Ahnassi now?

When he glanced at the dancers again, his eyes fell out of focus. What was he doing here? Hadn’t he been a Redoran guard? When had the world stopped making sense? Could he have ever imagined he’d be sitting in Suran with a Dark Brotherhood assassin, on their way to kill a member of Lord Vivec’s personal guard? How much stranger would his life get? 

A burning pain wormed into his chest. It never should have happened this way. If he truly couldn’t have defended Councilman Sarethi, his life should have ended on that day. Rels was living too long. Every day he lived now was taken from a person he had murdered. He still remembered the revulsion he’d felt from attacking Drosa Farano here in Suran. She’d looked him in the eyes and he’d ended her life. And for what? Was this for Morrowind? What should have happened? What might it have felt like, if he’d let Methas Hlaalu kill him? Rels hadn’t been able to see his weapon clearly in the ash storm. Maybe it would have been a dagger stuck between his helmet and pauldrons, or a sword gutting him between the plates of his bonemold cuirass. Would a blade feel hot or cold if it went that deep? The cut on his cheek had been from a conjured blade—he hadn’t felt it in his skin. What did it feel like, to join the ancestors? Had they all felt the same way when they’d died?

“So what did happen at the Tradehouse?”

Rels blinked. Amori. “My first writ was there.”

“I’m guessing you were seen?”

Rels grimaced. “Yeah. It wasn’t very clean.” Why hide it? What was the point? He wished there was time for a drink. But he knew just one wouldn’t be enough.

Amori gave him a piercing look. “That wasn’t your first murder was it?”

“Yeah.”

The kindness in his eyes was painful. “Then how on Nirn did you join the Morag Tong?”

“They recruited me. Said I had potential.” Rels finally began to eat his kwama egg, eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table.

Amori scoffed. “Potential? Potential to kill on command, you mean? Picking up an ex-Redoran and giving him a new purpose for their own gain? Your Grandmaster is every bit as ruthless as the Night Mother.”

Rels shot out of his seat, sending it clattering to the floor. Nobody paid attention to the noise. Fury pounded in his veins as he fought to stand still. “They are not the same,” he ground out. 

Amori leaned casually back in his chair, but Rels could see the tension around his eyes and the way he glanced at Rels’ fists. “I didn’t say they were the same… Just that they’re both ruthless. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing...” His eyes darted down to Rels’ hands again, then back up. “It’s clear the Morag Tong is important to you.”

Taking a deep breath, Rels picked up his chair and settled down into it. He was being unprofessional. Of course Amori didn’t understand the difference. It was Rels’ duty to make him understand. 

If he survived his first writ, that was.

Giras Indaram marched along the foyada alone, the ashen slope casting a long shadow from his right. His chitin armor stood out like a scrib on the road, easy to track. It was early morning, and Rels and Amori had been following him from a distance since he had set out from Molag Mar at dawn. 

With the target in view, Rels noticed the change in Amori. While usually he loped about like a caged animal, never shutting up, now he was silent as he hugged the shadows. He twisted his body to slip behind boulders, and his hands were empty. Rels stayed farther behind. If things turned sour, he needed to escape.

When they reached a secluded stretch on the path, Amori began. He weaved his hands in a cryptic pattern, and his body took on a subtle camouflage. Rels recognized the magic as something his writs sometimes did in order to flee, but he’d never seen it used before an attack. Now reflecting the soil around him, Amori took out a steel dagger and crept behind Indaram on tiptoe. 

Indaram seemed to notice a presence, as he whirled around, instantly throwing up a shining purple shield. Amori darted behind him and stabbed, but the dagger bounced off the shimmering light enveloping him. Indaram gesticulated fiercely, shooting a sickly green spray from between his hands, but Amori, still camouflaged, rolled out of the way.

“By the authority of Lord Vivec, surrender now!” 

Amori ignored him, and began to cast something else. Within seconds, Indaram’s shield faded and when he waved his hands, nothing happened. Amori’s camouflage disappeared, but when he charged with his dagger again, his strike landed. Indaram grunted in pain and reached for the weapon at his hip. Amori took the chance to aim beneath the helmet, and the target crumpled to the ground, bleeding from the throat.

Rels emerged from his spot behind a dead tree and approached. “That went well,” he said. “Your magic was useful.”

“Disappointed?” The sneer was back as Amori extracted his dagger and began to wipe it clean. 

Rels clenched his teeth. Couldn’t he say one nice thing without being accused of something? The Grandmaster’s words floated to his mind, against his will: If measures need to be taken…

“Never mind.” They began to walk back to Molag Mar. “I suppose you were to finish the contract if I failed?”

“No.” Rels sighed. This was his apprentice now. “If you die, your writ is void. I was only here to supervise.” Supervise. The word tasted strange. He remembered shadowing Gilyan on his writ in Caldera, how clueless he had felt watching someone more experienced. How unprepared he had felt to do the job properly. Now he outranked Gilyan, and yet Amori could handle a Buoyant Armiger by himself. Calling him an apprentice felt like a joke. Rels couldn’t mentor anyone.

“That’s ridiculous. Isn’t the kill the entire point of the thing?”

“No.” Amori scoffed, but Rels went on. “If the writ is voided, it’s just a murder. We can’t execute people without a writ.”

“Seems the Morag Tong doesn’t want their patrons getting their money’s worth!”

“Do you think it’s justice to send two assassins after one target?”

Amori shook his head, smiling sadly. “You might consider learning some magic to keep from voiding your writs, if that’s how you feel, Brother.”


	4. The Imperial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks airiat for betaing!

The day was dim and cloudy, and the only other person Rels had met on the road to Pelagiad had been a guar trader. But while the trip had been easy, inside something felt off. The trees, the towering mushrooms, the hum of the insects, the lapping of water on the lake shore, all of them seemed to say, “ _ Turn back. Don’t waste your time _ .” But Rels kept walking. He had a day off to visit Ahnassi, and he was going to take it. Amori was on a writ, his first on his own. Rels deserved a bit of time away. 

Deep breaths.

The town slid into view as he climbed the hill, and he went straight for Ahnassi’s house. As he came closer to the door, he saw the vines that curled around it were wavering in the light breeze. Deep breath. 

What was wrong with him?

A voice sounded from inside the house. A man. Imperial? Maybe a Nord? Rels listened by the window. The voice was indistinct. Ahnassi answered, and his heart panged. He couldn’t hear words, but he knew that tone.

Rels turned around. His feet carried him not to the road, but to the nearest secluded position with a view of the front door. He needed to think. Gather his thoughts. Sort this out. 

He dropped into a squat and ran his hands through his hair. Something inside his chest was trembling. Hadn’t he known this might happen? Expected it? Why did he keep coming back? Why didn’t he ask her to choose somebody? A small groan escaped him, and he gripped his scalp to stay calm.

Why should he ask that of her? What right did he have? What made him so different that she should choose him? How could anybody want someone like him? He should be grateful she wanted to see him at all. 

He could come back later. See if she was free.

Rels didn’t stand up to leave. Instead, he stayed there, eyes trained on the door, hoping and dreading that it would open. He didn’t know how long he stayed, only that his feet grew numb from squatting. Nor did he know what he would do when the man came out, if anything. 

Why was he doing this to himself?

The minutes stretched past, making him feel more and more absurd. Why didn’t he just go? Was he insane?

Just when he was deciding to give up his watch, the man emerged from the house. He was tall, broad, ugly. What did that mean for Rels? Ahnassi closed the door behind him with a sweet smile. It hurt.

He could come back later.

“What’s the plan, when he comes?”

Rels looked over at Amori as they both crouched behind an outcropping of rocks. They were near the Fields of Kummu, waiting to catch another Dark Brotherhood member. An Imperial with a round face and white hair, Knower gro-Bularz had said.

“The plan? I’m going to execute him. And you’re going to watch.”

Amori pushed a lock of auburn hair out of his face with a frustrated noise. “That’s it? We aren’t going to interrogate him? If you’ll recall, the Grandmaster was quite thorough in his questioning of me. You would think--”

“Maybe he doesn’t know anything useful,” Rels whispered. “Just be quiet.”

“How can we be sure of that? What if--”

“Maybe it’s more important for him to just be gone.” Rels ground his teeth. They needed to be still or they’d be discovered.

Amori’s pitch rose, sounding more desperate. “What if he knows something critical, something we need--”

“Something we need? Or something  _ you _ need, to find what’s-her-name? You don’t give a shit about helping the Morag Tong--”

Then Amori grabbed Rels’ arm, looking past the rocks. “Shh! Look, is that him?”

Rels heard footsteps, and when he looked up, an Imperial coming down the road met his eyes. That was him, and they’d been seen. 

The man turned around and ran.

“N’chow.” Rels sprang up from behind the rocks and gave chase. The man had a head start, but Rels was faster. He pulled a knife from his belt and flung it, but it missed. The man pivoted and headed towards the lake, beginning to cast a spell on himself. Rels pulled out another knife and aimed. If he got onto the water, Rels couldn’t follow.

The second knife sank into his back, and he staggered on the shore, the magic around him fading. With a frustrated roar, the man turned around and drew a steel tanto.

Still charging, Rels took out his dagger to engage. When he got close he thrust it into the man’s side. The man slashed the tanto, forcing Rels to leave the dagger in his side as he dodged a moment too late. As he ducked out of the way, the man grabbed his arm to pull him to the ground.

Rels tried to fall onto his shoulder to roll, but an iron-toed boot kicked him in the ribs, and there was a crack as he landed roughly on his wrist instead. He bit off a scream and struggled to get up again.

The man, wheezing in pain and holding his wound, raised his blade to stab down. Rels rolled away before he was impaled, but a green mist surrounded the man before the blade came down, and he froze in place. His forward momentum made him crash to the pebbled ground, utterly stiff. That could only have been Amori.

Rels, now panting from the growing pain in his wrist, scrambled on his knees and elbow to the paralyzed Imperial and pulled out his dagger with his off hand. He didn’t know how long the spell would last. The water caressing the shore was all he could hear as he fumbled with the knife, turning it in his hand to point down. He needed to finish him off quickly.

Half lying down, he raised the dagger above his head and stabbed down into the man’s chest. Rels began to breathe faster, and he stabbed him again. Then again. More. He had to be sure. Again. Blood soaked the handle of his blade. He stabbed again, but the tip of the dagger glanced off a bone in the center of the chest, and Rels nearly fell on his wrist again. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and his breaths felt cold. When he stabbed down again, he nearly gagged. 

Was he dead? Was it safe?

He let go of the dagger and glanced up at the man’s face. He wasn’t paralyzed anymore. His expression was slack.

There were soft footsteps behind him. Rels didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Amori. He focused on his breathing. Forced himself to look up at the lake. The trees beside them. This wasn’t Balmora. He was done. He wasn’t leaving for Ald-ruhn. He didn’t need to escape. Everything was going to be fine. This was what he needed to do. It was safe now.

“You look hurt. Can you get up?”

Rels closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then pushed himself up shakily to his feet. “Can you heal me?” His voice came out quieter than he’d wanted.

“I’m not a healer, you know. Don’t you have a potion?”

“No.” 

Rels was still looking away. He was sure he looked terrible, and Amori had seen everything he’d just done. Every throb in his wrist hit a sharp crescendo, and he fought not to wince.

He cradled it in his other arm and began to walk back to where they had left their bags behind the rocks.

Amori, however, stepped forward to investigate the body. Rels’ nerves spiked.

“Stop it! Get away from him!”

“What? I just think we should--”

“I said don’t touch him!” 

He knew it was irrational. He knew Amori was right. But the wounds in that chest meant something. It was repulsive. Nobody should ever see. It was a failure. Rels was disgusting.

Amori looked him up and down with open contempt. “Is this some sort of Morag Tong code nonsense I have to contend with? Leaving the body in peace or something?”

His wrist was swelling, sending jabs of pain with every beat of his heart. Ignore the shame. Push forward. 

“You didn’t have to join, you know.”

Amori’s eyes flashed. “Oh didn’t I? And you wouldn’t have killed me if I hadn’t?”

Don’t answer that. Rels struggled to control his breathing again. He needed to get back home. Away from this. He trudged back towards the road. The nausea was returning. The memory of Methas Hlaalu tipping, paralyzed, into the river with a splash was playing in his mind over and over. Rels sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. This could have gone better.

“You were just supposed to watch.”

“Fine! See if I help you next time!” Stomping footsteps followed him. “You regret it, don’t you? Having me at your mercy, how easy it would have been, how nice if I were out of your way, just let you get on with your precious Morag Tong--”

Rels rounded on him. “You think this is easy for me?” His voice was hoarse now. “You think I like working for the Morag Tong?”

Amori lifted his chin, lips twisted in a hard sneer. “No. I think you need it.”

The Black Shalk Cornerclub was subdued that night. Rels sat in a far corner downstairs, gripping his cup of mazte in his left hand as his eyes swept the room for threats. Only a couple of tipsy Imperials and a Redguard relaxing with their foreign drinks.

His wrist was wrapped in a splint and resting in his lap. The healing potion he’d taken at headquarters had fixed the break, but it was still tender and he wasn’t allowed to move it for at least a week. That meant no executions until then. Eno Hlaalu’s scowl floated into his mind like a spectre. “This will need to be taken into account,” he’d said.

Rels took a pull from his drink. Mazte was weak. Huleeya wasn’t here to report on him, but he wasn’t going to risk getting into trouble again.

An image of the Dark Brotherhood assassin from earlier that day hovered over the threadbare rug in front of his table. Rels stared at it, letting his eyes fall out of focus. It wasn’t like Methas. It was dry. Peppered with stab wounds. And he’d done it on the Grandmaster’s orders. He hadn’t even known the man’s name. But it was justified. He’d done the right thing today.

His stomach hardened and his temples began to pound. How long was he going to be followed by every person he killed? Did it ever get any easier? And when had he started to want it to, rather than wanting to stop killing altogether? When had his identity become that of a murderer? Was there anything left of who he’d been before?

As though summoned, something black began to rise slowly from the depths of his mind, an inky flood that threatened to drown him. No. It wasn’t going to happen. He held the edge of the table in a vice grip, pushing the flood back down through the floor. It was going to go away someday. He was going to conquer it.

He remembered what the Grandmaster had told him a few weeks before: “You have given your blood for the guild, and Mephala is pleased.” 

Maybe someday he would believe it. Maybe it would be enough.


	5. The Writ with No Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I was stuck on this one, but things are finally rolling again and I'll have the next chapter up soon! Thank you spiney for the beta help!

“Master Rilvayn has reported signs of Dark Brotherhood activity near Balmora. She has traced it to a house just outside of the city. Go there and search the house. If you find evidence, your apprentice may carry out the execution. Give your findings to Master Rilvayn, and offer any assistance you can. I will summon you when it is time to return.”

“Yes, Grandmaster.” The splint on Rels’ wrist itched, and he wanted to tear it off. This assignment was a punishment. He’d failed in his duty, and now he was being sent back to Balmora.

He found Amori reading downstairs, his feet resting on the table. Rels clenched his good fist.

“Associate.” Amori startled and put his feet down. “Pack up. We’re moving to Balmora.”

Amori eyed him carefully. “If you say so.”

\--

Nerves clawed at Rels’ stomach as the blocky silhouette of Balmora emerged under the gray sky. The silt strider’s gait was smooth and trained, but the gentle rocking motion stirred his insides. He hadn’t seen Master Rilvayn since.... How much did she know?

And how much did the rest of them know?

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived, and a haze filled the valley Balmora was nestled in. Amori stepped out onto the platform and stretched his thin limbs.

“I have actually never been to Balmora. What is it like?”

Rels sighed. “A shithole.”

Icy guilt fell over him as they crossed the square and went through the alley to the Morag Tong guildhall. Once they opened that door, there would be no more hiding. They would accuse him, Amori would find out everything, and Rels would be trapped here. Just like he’d been trapped in Ald-ruhn.

He pushed open the door.

Master Rilvayn greeted them in the dim red glow of the hall, her expression hard. Rels swallowed.

“Master.”

She turned to Amori. “Welcome to Balmora, Associate. Settle in here while I have a word with…your mentor.”

They left Amori at one of the dining tables and went upstairs to her quarters. As they climbed, she glanced back at him with narrowed eyes. The easy rapport they had formed had evaporated. But this was nothing new, was it? Hadn’t people looked at him this way for months in Ald-ruhn? Was this really any different?

She reached her desk and turned to him. “Let me make one thing clear. You’re here because I trust the Grandmaster. Why Methas is dead is between you two, and I don’t care what you did to prove yourself to the guild.” She looked him up and down, and Rels stiffened. 

“Yes, Master.” He looked down from her face at her hands resting on the edge of the desk, his throat hard and cold. He would be dismissed soon. It would be over. He would walk away. Feel nothing.

“Is your apprentice aware?”

“No, Master.”

She took a deep breath through her nose. “Well he won’t be hearing about it here. I’m the only one who knows what happened, and I expect you to hold your tongue around everyone else.”

“Yes, Master.”

Handing him a scroll, she clucked her teeth. “The sooner you carry this out, the sooner you can leave.”

“Yes, Master.” Rels took the scroll and left down the stairs, where he heard footsteps coming up.

The Dunmer was about his age, with a homely face and a mohawk mullet—It was Gilyan. But his gregarious attitude was gone, his eyes wide and his voice hesitant.

“Rels...I mean—Brother Llethri.” He frowned. “What are you doing here? And how—you have an apprentice? I thought you—”

Rels waited a few beats, but he didn’t continue. “I got sent here,” he said.

“Oh.” Gilyan took a step back. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

As he left the guildhall with Amori, Rels realized that he’d missed Gilyan. If he’d wanted, he could have continued his training here in Balmora, gotten to know his guildmates better, honored their trust, learned to like sujamma... maybe even forgiven Methas Hlaalu. He swallowed the regret and descended the stairs from the sunny plaza.

Their lead took them out of the city, out the northern gate, and past the spot where Rels had released his poisoned arrow. He stared resolutely at the horizon, feeling himself detach. Everything always came back to Methas. He remembered the resentment he’d felt before murdering him—none of it was fair. Methas had stepped into his life, ruined his standing in House Redoran, then returned to leech off the Empire in Balmora, even had the gall to call—

“Are you all right?”

He grunted and didn’t look over. Their steps padded a steady rhythm on the packed earth, Amori’s gait casually graceful, Rels’ measured and deliberate. They still had a ways to go before reaching the location.

He’d thought it would feel good to murder Methas, but he was wrong. But why had it felt so awful? Why had he regretted it so acutely that he would vomit? Hadn’t he been sure that it would fix everything? Answers loomed in the corner of his mind: Because he believed in the Morag Tong. Because he’d endangered the peace between the houses. Because he’d betrayed the Grandmaster’s trust.

It didn’t make sense.

How had Ahnassi known to give him that bottle? How had she known of his connection to Mephala? “Always Ahnassi listens. Ahnassi hears Mafala many times.” Had Mephala wanted him to use the potion on Methas?

“I couldn’t help but wonder...” Amori spoke up again in a delicate voice.

“What?”

“Is there a reason everyone here seems afraid of you?”

Master Rilvayn didn’t seem afraid. Gilyan had looked... terrified. “I don’t know.” But he could guess.

“One fellow, I don’t recall his name, went up to talk to you. What did he want?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Amori sucked in a breath. “Right. Anyway… What is our precise objective here?”

Rels cleared his throat. “Find out who lives in the house, and execute them if they’re in the Dark Brotherhood.”

“We don’t have a name?”

That was a good question. Rels pulled out the scroll Master Rilvayn had handed him and opened it.

It was a writ with no name.

Amori peered over at it and scoffed in amusement. “Judge, jury, and executioner! Is this supposed to be legal?”

“Shut up.” Something twinged in Rels’ chest, and he put the writ away. “We are fighting a war.”

He glared at Amori, whose eyebrow was cocked. “Whose war is that?”

“You’re here to help me identify this person and that’s it. I don’t want to hear your opinions, Associate.”

“Fine, fine, fine! But, let’s suppose the suspect is, in fact, who we’re looking for. It wouldn’t hurt to—”

Rels cut him off. “Sounds like an opinion to me.”

Amori heaved a sigh as they turned at a crossroads. “All right, so… Let’s keep to the facts. We need to be sure of his or her identity, correct? It will do nobody any good to kill an innocent person.”

Rels gritted his teeth but said nothing.

“And that means… We can avoid committing any injustice by allowing me to make absolutely certain before we act.”

“Obviously. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m not talking about torture, here. I may have been Dark Brotherhood, but you know I’m not like them.” He was giving Rels a sharp look, daring him to disagree.

He was still a Telvanni, but he was right.

“I won’t do any harm. If this person is innocent, then we can leave peacefully, and there won’t be any trouble.”

“How do you know?”

“Illusion magic,” Amori began with a small wave of his hand, “is harmless on its own. There will be no violence unless you say so.”

“...Fine. We’ll try it your way. But we’re not here for your girlfriend or whatever. Try anything stupid and it’s over.”

Amori wiped his face with one hand. “I understand.”

A weathered shack rose in the distance—their destination. It was huddled between two leaning trees, surrounded by an overgrown garden. From this distance, Rels couldn’t spot any windows, but whoever lived inside might be able to peek between the loose boards making the walls.

They crept behind an outcropping of rocks at the foot of the hill facing the shack and began their stakeout.

“Isn’t there a spell to see if anyone’s inside?” Rels whispered.

Amori huffed in amusement. “If there is, I don’t know it. My family doesn’t pass down the mystic arts. You might ask in Sadrith Mora.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

Amori rolled his eyes and peered at the shack, eyes narrowed.

“It looks as if the garden’s been disturbed. Could be a burial. If so, that’s rather sloppy.”

Rels spotted a patch of freshly turned earth among the wilted whickwheat stems, and a spade propped up against the wall of the shack.

“You think an outlander did it?” he whispered.

“Not necessarily,” responded Amori with a look of disgust. “I’ve seen Dunmer do far worse with bodies. At least the Morag Tong leaves them some semblance of dignity...”

They didn’t need to wait long, as only an hour later a gawky-looking Dunmer man in rags emerged from the shack. He glanced around him, stepped up to the edge of the garden, and undid his pants to relieve himself before heading back inside.

“I would venture to guess that is not his garden,” said Amori dryly.

“So, Associate… What is the plan?” Rels leaned against the rock with his arms folded.

“You’re awfully rude today… More than usual.”

“Well?”

“Well… My plan is to turn you invisible, then approach the house seemingly alone. I put a spell on him the moment he opens the door, and then we have a nice chat. If all goes well, he need never know you were there.”

“How do I get un-invisible when it’s done?”

Amori rubbed his face with one hand. “You’ll turn visible again if you touch anything, so you need to be quite careful, actually. In fact, it’s better if you draw your weapon beforehand.”

“Fine.”

Rels drew his ebony dagger and wrapped his hand in a cloth. He still wore the splint on his good arm, but his off hand was better than nothing. Amori knelt before him and wove his hands in a circular pattern, murmuring something indistinct.

There was a fine green mist, and with a jolt of fear Rels looked down to see only the ground beneath him. His limbs buzzed with sensation, as though screaming their presence still, and he followed Amori to the shack with unsteady steps. It felt as if he’d never walked before, and every step he might trip.

Amori paused a moment to let him catch up, then raised a spidery hand to knock on the door. A whiff of something foul wafted toward them.

A raspy voice called out through the boards of the shack. “Fuck off, n’wah!”

“Praise the Night Mother,” responded Amori calmly, his hands raised to cast.

There was a pause, then the door creaked open. The moment the Dunmer’s ragged face appeared, Amori released his spell, and another green mist swirled around him. The man’s face went slack for a few seconds, then pulled into a dopey grin.

“Ah, Executioner,” he croaked.

Amori smiled sharply. “Tibashipal, wasn’t it? May I come in?”

Rels looked between the two, feeling his lip begin to twitch. They knew each other already. This entire plan was a ruse. Was this why he hadn’t wanted to kill the suspect? Could they still be working together? They stepped inside, Rels twisting to avoid touching the door, his mind racing.

Inside the shack a wall of stench hit them: feces, blood, and skooma smoke. A hammock hung in the corner, above an overturned basket and a sheaf of rumpled papers. A skooma pipe stood alone on the table, emitting a thin stream of smoke. On the floor was a large dark stain. Rels tiptoed to an empty corner to watch, dagger held aloft.

This might end sooner than expected, and Amori would have to answer for a couple things.

“Surprised you remember little old me,” Tibashipal said, hiccoughing.

Amori stayed by the door, in front of the dark stain. “Yes, well, there are precious few countrymen among our ranks. Always good to see a fellow Dunmer working for the cause.”

Tibashipal let out a wheeze that might have been a laugh. “You’re damn right.” He tottered over to the table and picked up the skooma pipe. “Hit?”

“No thanks,” Amori responded lightly. “I wonder if you remember another Dunmer, a woman, tall, fair-haired, quite beautiful...” His eyes flicked to the corner where Rels stood inches from the table.

Rels was clenching the dagger in his left fist. It took all of his self control to silence his breathing and keep still. Amori had lied to him. This whole conversation was a waste of time. He should execute him now, and they could write his name down and be done with it. But no, Amori had to find his Lyssara, a woman who wasn’t even his girlfriend, who probably wasn’t even alive anymore…

So why didn’t Rels stab the man now? What was this feeling that stayed his hand?

Tibashipal spat on the floor and looked back up, his eyes woozy. “Y’know, maybe I do...”

“Where?” Amori’s eyes were hungry in the dim slits of sunlight from the drafty walls. “Where did you see her?”

“Ald…Sotha.” The man took a long hit from the pipe and emptied his lungs directly at Rels, who tried to hold his breath but choked.

There was only the sound of Amori’s rapid breathing as the room stilled.

“What...” Tibashipal spoke, his voice sharpening. “What’s going on? Who said you could come in here?”

The cloud of smoke cleared, and Rels took stock of the room. Amori was backing towards the doorway, and Tibashipal was standing up.

It was time to act.

Rels tapped the wall beside him to reappear behind the man, then drove his dagger into the crook of his neck, aimed at the heart.

Tibashipal dropped to his knees, reaching weakly for the wound. Rels yanked the dagger back out, and kicked the body forward to avoid the heavy spray of blood. It was a method Master Andarys had taught him in Ald-ruhn, one which he hadn’t had the chance to use yet.

It worked faster than he’d expected.

Over Tibashipal’s twitching, gurgling body Rels stared Amori down. He looked frantic, ready to bolt out the door.

“We need to go to Ald Sotha—Look, there’s a base there, if we sneak in, I can get her out and you can kill everyone else there, but we need to go there—What if we’re running out of time?” His words tumbled out, his hands held up in a plea.

Rels marched forward and grabbed his wrist with one hand in case he cast another spell. “We’re not going anywhere. You lied to me. You knew his name already.”

Amori’s face blanched and he squirmed in Rels’ grip, too weak to break free. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry, but we need to go! I got you the name of another base, didn’t I? We can go there first and clear it out, and everyone should be happy! Please let me go--”

“Tell it to the Master, and if she says so, we can go.” He twisted Amori’s wrist then. “But this mission is done. And you didn’t even find out what he was doing out here by himself.”

Tears beginning to leak from his eyes, Amori contorted to keep his wrist from breaking and jerked his chin in the direction of the bed. “The papers-- Take the papers, maybe they’ve got something on them.”

“You take the papers. I’m not letting go of you.”

“Fine! Ugh, let me--” He hobbled over to the bed and reached down with his free hand to pick up the pile of loose papers. From here Rels could see they were written in Dunmeris, but it was too small to read.

“Let’s go.”

It didn’t feel good to drag Amori by the wrist all the way back to Balmora, listening to him whimper in desperation and fear. Something had come over him, and his calm facade had broken. Rels mulled over the feeling the whole way back, and decided what he was feeling was sympathy. And maybe envy.

Amori had hope. Rels didn’t.


End file.
